Old Hat's Die Hard
by Stew
Summary: Meet Roland, one of the last members of a lost gang known as the 'Old-Hats'. Once revered as a hero, now nothing more than a broken drunk trying to stay alive long enough to end the men who destroyed his life.
1. Toilet King

Old Hats Die Hard

Toilet King

The tall man with the sunburned face and ratty duster entered the building marked 'Public Restroom'. He stopped in the open doorway, one foot on either side of the threshold. His back propped the heavy door open, allowing the harsh afternoon sunlight to pour into the room. Roland was breathing heavily with exertion; fatigue had long set in and was now rapidly grinding the old, travel worn man to dust. His cold, faded blue eyes scanned the seemingly dormant restroom; he calmed his labored breathing as best he could and listened. There was no sound, save for the soft settling of an old building such as this. The only threat was the almost overpowering scent of lingering piss and shit that had been baked into the walls by the merciless Californian heat. Apart from that there was nothing, and so Roland focused on the sinks.

They were neatly rowed in front of cracked mirrors, like ancient soldiers standing at attention. He went to the nearest one, his legs threatening to buckle. The short distance seemed to span for miles and when he reached it, he had to clutch the sides of the porcelain bowl with both hands to keep from falling to the floor. The bathroom door swung shut lazily, leaving him in an almost irrepressible gloom. He squinted in the murky darkness, he had been in the sun too long and his eyes were paying the price. Roland squeezed them closed in an attempt to clear them, but large, vibrant dots danced upon closed lids and when he opened his eyes again he felt nauseous. So he stopped, reached out to the sink and turned the faucet marked 'Cold. The sink gave out two heaving clunks, as if coughing to clear a century of phlegm and produced a black tarry substance that hit the basin with a hollow 'sploosh'. There was nothing more after that.

'No…no…fuckin…come on!' Roland cried in frustration, but his cry was merely a croak. His throat ached for the promised moisture.

He went to the next sink, now pawing like a thick brained baby at the tap, his hands shaking uncontrollably with anticipation and desperation. There was nary a sound from this one, it was long rusted and dried up. He methodically went through the next three, knowing the outcome but not believing it. He couldn't bring himself to, this bathroom was his last chance, and it was meant to bring respite. But there was no liquid to be drawn from the taps, he cursed to himself then turned away from the sinks in disgust. He meant to survey the rest of the bathroom, but his tired legs gave out and the man fell to the hard tiled floor. The smell of lingering piss was worse down here, strong and bitter and cloying in his dried nose. The tile felt cold under his hot hands though and Roland laid his sun stung face onto them. Blessed relief was instantaneous and made him nearly delirious with pleasure. His wide brimmed hat came free and rolled along the floor for several feet before finally coming to rest on its back. Roland didn't notice. He lay there for several minutes, trying to resist the urge to sleep. He knew if he did he probably would not wake up; just fade out into sweet nothingness. But he rested for a few moments, trying to collect what remained of himself. When the tile began to grow hot under his face and the sting began to bite again he got up. The thirst was painful and more prevelant now. His tongue was swelled and raw and hot, it felt like a long dried sea bed. His throat also was dry and blistered. His heart felt as if it had been covered in tar and left to grind out each beat with monumental effort. He looked longingly at the urinals, knowing it was futile but still not accepting his fate.

Roland took a moment to gather what little strength he had left and managed to lift himself onto hands and feet. He crawled like this to the urinals. His arms and legs felt like tightly wound rubber bands that had snapped. They were flimsy and unpredictable, but with effort he made it the twelve feet across the room. Roland couldn't remember the last time he had taken a drink of water; time seemed to blend into one, becoming a seamless rotation of dark and light. He had had a large silver canteen at some point and the water was fresh and pure and always cold. Had that happened? Or was it just wishful thinking? His tired, distorted brain could no longer tell.

He reached the ancient toilets and pulled the plunger the despair was worse when nothing came forth. The man dunked his hand into the bottom of the bowl, hoping for just a drop of moisture but it was bone dry.

'Fuck you!' He cried out to the empty room 'Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!'

He screamed until he tasted blood in his throat and a pounding headache which stretched across his temples like thunder across the desert, hot and angry. He sat with his back against the wall between the urinals; he was panting now, his breathe coming out in short ragged gasps. Roland reached up and pulled the plunger on the urinal to his right and it gave a single dry 'Clunk' and nothing else. He would have to leave this cool place, he knew and search for another means of hydration. But Roland couldn't bear thinking about the long highway and where he might find another place such as this before his body could bear the strain of survival no longer and finally just stop. He saw the vultures dance around his forgotten carcass, fighting over his eyes and picking the rest of his rotting body clean. Saw too the raiders and hunters pick through his things (as he had done to others when he came across them, dead on the road) and claim what was once his. It was part of survival in the wasteland and he couldn't resent them for it. Before then though, before facing the impossible heat he would rest, just close his eyes for a few moments and drift off. Roland turned his head away from the door, succumbing more to the darkness and noticed his vision had cleared considerably. That was good he thought, as he was closing his eyes. He was looking at the stall in the far off corner of the room at a pair of shiny black engineers boots.

They didn't register at first, his mind tiredly wondered about them somewhere in the back of his brain. He hadn't caught it at first; it was like someone whispering beside a generator. The thought of blessed, delicious sleep drowning out all other thoughts he might have. His eyes had been drooping closed his body relaxing when his mind spoke up. _Don't use the bathroom friend, you'll tarnish the water._

'_Wha…' He asked the empty room tiredly._

He jerked awake, out of the dose he hadn't remembered falling into. His eyes opened and he frowned, what water? He looked around the bathroom and then truly saw them. A pair of feet under the stall, someone was on the throne.

The man in that cubicle was obviously dead, surely must have been, or else he would have come out when he heard Roland screaming. Right? Instinct told him yes and instinct would win out in most situations. But Roland didn't rightly trust himself at this exact moment, he was tired and thirsty and desperate. The last one was the most important, he had seen many men make mistakes in desperation and he promised he wouldn't become one of them. The man opened his worn duster and took out his revolver which was kept holstered discreetly under his left arm. Had he reloaded it? He thought so but couldn't be sure. The weighty piece of iron felt like a thousand pounds in his hands, but he held it straight, pointed as steadily as it could be at the cubicle.

'Ho! You alive in there?'

The bathroom sat in its glum, still silence, except his echo bouncing off the tiles. How it hurt to yell like that, he could taste blood in his throat and on his tongue which now felt like a piece of sandpaper. Roland hefted himself to his feet; it took several moments and was more of a trial than he anticipated. He got there though and used the wall for support as he limped to the stall.

Roland pushed on the door and found it locked. The flimsy bolt rattled in its metallic hold. He took one deep breath and kicked the door with all the strength he could muster. It gave away without much resistance and he stumbled inside, his leg still outstretched and would have gone headlong into the stall if he hadn't fired his gun. He unconsciously squeezed the trigger and the weapon discharged with a thunderous boom that erupted through the bathroom, making Roland's ears bleed. The ricochet sent his tired body backwards and into the rear wall. He never heard the bullet, but saw it had struck a mirror in its insane dance around the room. Roland shook his head, trying to stop his ringing ears but they kept on buzzing, as they would for the next hour or so. He dropped his weapon too in his alarm and it clattered to the floor, but didn't discharge a second time. He ignored his discarded weapon and walked back into the cubicle. It was indeed a corpse, it wasn't long dead, but definitely would never rise again.

The screwdriver was the first and most alarming thing to catch Roland's attention. It jutted out of the man's left ear and the blood around it had congealed to a thick paste. He saw the blood trail leading to the bathroom he had missed before, he blamed his sun damaged eyes but mostly, he just hadn't cared to notice. The handle on the tool was big and he estimated the actual screwdriver had to be at least four to six inches; it was buried to the hilt. The eye closest to the screwdriver had hemorrhaged and bulged grotesquely out of the young man's skull. Small droplets of blood had dripped down his cheek and pooled in a crease on his shirt. The other eye looked directly at Roland; there was no life behind them. His death had been recent but not swift, for some unknown reason this young man, after being stabbed, had managed to drag himself into the stall and lock it. People did odd things in the throes of death, Roland knew, he had seen many a people die. But this one was one of the oddest.

'You don't look to good Pardner.' He said, he chuckled to himself but didn't like the way it sounded in the restroom so stopped.

He saw his prize, wedged between the toilet and the wall. It was a small burlap sack. The bloody hand prints had dried but he still felt uneasy touching it. Roland had an odd superstition of going through the dead's belongings. To scavenge made him feel no better than those birds, fighting over the last morsels of meat on a used up carcass. Still though, it was desperate times. He reached over the dead man, who had just begun to smell in the hot bathroom. Thick, hot and gassy. _Like rotten turnips_ he thought crazily, trying to quell the urge to vomit. He beat that urge, though it was partially because there was nothing more that could come out of him. Roland plucked the sack from beside the toilet and backed out of the cramped stall. He got down on his haunches, pulled the drawstrings apart and tipped the contents of the bag onto the tile floor, a few items fell out and amongst those was a half drunk bottle of water. It hit the floor and rolled away but Roland lunged and caught it in his deft hands. He greedily undid the bottle cap and had to force himself to take a small sip. It was gritty, dirty water he could taste the sediment slide down his throat and knew he would be paying for this later, but for now he was thrilled with the sensation of moisture. His dried tongue cracked, blood mingled with cool water and poured down his blistered throat temporarily relieving the pain. He waited but his body didn't reject the dirty water so he took another sip and then another until the bottle was only quarter full. He wanted to drink it all, could have easily but forced himself to restrain. He laid the bottle aside and rifled through the other items that lay scattered on the floor. There was a jet inhaler, three bottle caps (he pocketed these) several shells to a pistol. He took these also, Roland could use the gunpowder. There was also a hunk of unrecognizable meat but it had long since rotted and the man threw it aside. He looked longingly at the bottle of water; his mouth was still deathly dry but he felt better, slightly more rejuvenated. The shake in his hands and legs had diminished. He looked at the man again, his one good eye staring at Roland. With a sigh the man stood and went to the boy. He closed his dried out eyes and pulled the screwdriver from his ear, it came loose with a hideous slurping noise. It was eight inches by the way and Roland put it behind the toilet. Not knowing why he was hiding the weapon, just knowing he had to. He then crossed his arms over his chest. It was an effort his body had tightened with rigor mortis but Roland accomplished the task. If he could spare the water he would have cleaned the blood away and fixed the boys hair. He couldn't and so left it as he was. Unsure at why he had performed this act Roland uttered a short prayer, something he hadn't done in many years:

'God, allow you rest now.'

Content to give the man some morsel of dignity, he lifted his quarter bottle of water and put in his pocket, retrieved his weapon and left the bathroom, once again at the mercy of the wasteland.

_When this world is dry, and baron with nothing left to give and our kind have long departed, no one will remember us for who we were, only for what we have done._

Excerpt from Roland's Diary, dated,

2280

_This is somewhat of a prequel hopefully it does the character some justice. Thank you for taking the time to look this over, reader. If you could take another moment to please rate it would be an amazing help to me. It would be great to know where I am going wrong and what; if anything I may be doing right . Again, thanks for your attention - Stew_


	2. Woes of a troubled hero

Old Hats Die Hard

Woes of a troubled hero

The setting sun stained the early evening sky a deep red as it sunk below the distant mountains. The old man walked, boots clicking on the sun boiled tarmac. His shadow was cast long and far across the right hand shoulder of the highway like a phantom companion. The highway he traveled on had once held the strain of a million cars, now they sat still and silent. Twisted beyond recognition and strewn across the road without purpose, like lost souls.

Roland picked his way carefully through the vehicles that clogged up the road. He had chosen the overpass because of its safety, usually only wild dogs or birds came up this high to pick scraps of flesh from bone. There was always the chance of running into a likeminded wasteland wanderer, but if you didn't shoot at them they tended to return the courtesy. It was cool up here too, as the sun set Roland reveled in the cool air that danced across his hot cheeks and ruffled the tails of his travel-worn duster. Like most things in the wasteland, the highway only gave the illusion of safety. Even up here, there were dangers to overcome. In the most congested spots cars were packed tightly together and the only way to progress was to climb over the top of them. There was metal that stuck out at odd angles and could easily cut an artery. Even to nick yourself on a stray piece of metal could be a death sentence if the wound took infection. The cars themselves retained the desert heat; some bumpers Roland climbed on were hot enough to scorch skin. There were also the holes in the highways to look out for. The tarmac had fallen away centuries ago, leaving only a fatal drop to careless travelers. At one point Roland had been on the bumper of a car, ready to move to the next one when the weight shifted and the vehicle slid into a hole it had been precariously balanced over and conveniently covering. The old man had had to jump to the other side, landing heavily on his already damaged hip. He had spent the rest of the day cursing his stupidity and limping as his hip swelled to the size of a grapefruit.

When he saw night begin to fall he pushed through the pain. The ragged, teeth like mountains seemed to be gobbling the sun up at an alarming rate. As the first glint of stars began to peak out from behind its Inky veil, Roland was getting onto an exit ramp. The knowledge that he was deep in raider's territory spurred him on the hunt to find shelter. The overpass was an amazing vantage point; he had spotted several small buildings that had been converted into a makeshift fort. There he saw the telltale movements of a large raider population, they weren't exactly discreet. He had estimated there were at least two dozen of them, but that was a conservative guess. Raiders were like roaches; you could shoot them until your gun was empty and even think you got them all. But when night fell they would come, scampering out of the cracks to spread their diseases.

When his feet were firmly planted on the dusty desert bowl it was almost full dark. The last shade of twilight was quickly fading. Roland could hear the wild cries of Geckos emerging to feed. The tell tale howl of coyotes running under the banner of stars, the protection of a pack giving them confidence. Roland stood; head cocked, listening for the bigger, more dangerous predators. Satisfied there were none, he sauntered to the side of the road. He unbuckled his belt and fly and waited, when nothing came forth the man arched his back and kneaded the soft flesh beside his kidneys.

'Come on' He murmered to himself 'Come on dammit!'

As if spurred by the curse, relief finally came. It was a stuttering stream at first, but Roland continued kneading his lower back with a balled up fist to help strengthen the flow. It was a tedious job brought on by age. Too many times recently had he zipped up his fly only to find another burst of piss trickling down his leg, a large dark patch on his thigh. . _No siree_, he thought, _I ain't getting any younger._ Usually he would be aiming it into his canteen but that was filled with cool, clear water. Since the restroom ordeal, Roland had hiked for three more days. Conserving the small amount of gritty water as best he could until he came across a fresh stream. It was small, but the water trickled fast down a hill and through a score of craggy rocks from an underground spring. He had drunk deeply, felt the energy come coursing through his body. Felt the first pangs of hunger in a long time come creeping back into his belly. Revitalized he had camped around the water source for a day and had shot several small animals attracted by the fresh water. He had salted the meat he could not finish and filled his canteen and water bottle he found on the dead boy and continued his journey. He shuddered when he thought just how close to death he had come in the abandoned restroom along the seemingly eternal highway.

He was thinking of this when the first scream came. Roland had missed it though, mistaking it for the sound of geckos. The second scream was unmistakable, it was high and piercing. A woman's scream. He had heard it before; it was the sound that followed him out of his nightmares. The one he let play over and over again in his head. He gasped at the sound, it couldn't be. But it came again, tearing through the night air and piercing him in the heart like an expertly launched arrow. They forced his mind to revisit the memories that haunted him so, the ones that if the means permitted, he would find a bottle of scotch and drink until he forgot. It was the night his family had been taken from him that pained him so.

Slain by Hunters out on his Brahmin cattle farm, he had given them everything, his guns, his cows and even the deed to the farm. In return the Hunters had raped his wife and slit her throat. His daughter had been spared the rape; apparently these Hunters were the honorable bunch. No, she took a single bullet to the back of the head. They had beaten Roland for many hours, each taking turns with the man. Then they had set the farm alight and left him to burn, with a bullet in his stomach for their troubles. Roland had lost his left thumb in the attack, to a meat cleaver. His left hip (Which was now swollen and sore) pained badly in the cold weather thanks to a fracture given from a baseball bat and his left upper torso from his shoulder to belly looked like chuck courtesy of the fire. He had survived though, and had set out to find the ring leaders and end them as they had ended his quiet family.

And that scream, that desperate, pleading sound had been the last thing he had ever heard come out of his wife. He hesitated for only a moment, knowing it wasn't his wife or child. It was a foolish thought to believe otherwise. It was too familiar though. It cut deep into old wounds that would never heal but had toughened over time and tore them open, making them raw once more.

They weren't far; the woman's screams were easy to follow. He had to climb a small hill, and stood upon a ridge overlooking the desert floor. There he saw three raiders had surrounded a young woman and were in the midst of undressing her. She fought valiantly, her foot striking one man directly in the crotch, sending him to the floor doubled over. She clawed and screamed and tried to wriggle her way free. One man, the biggest of the three, lifted the small woman by the hair. She was petite, couldn't be more than ninety pounds but her belly was round and swollen with pregnancy. The man back handed her and then let her drop to the hard, desert floor. With a sigh Roland descended to hill.

There were cacti and rocks to cover his approach until he was only around ten feet away. He saw the big man only had a pistol tucked into his belt. The other two had discarded their guns along with most of their clothes on the side of the road.

'Relax, c'mon baby, we just wanna show you a good fuckin time!' Said a small man with a mowhawk 'We gonna make this real fun for you baby!' He tittered wildly and attempted to remove the woman's shirt. The blow had knocked the fight out of her; her eyes had glazed over with acceptance.

'That's it baby; Uncle Joe here is going to treat you real nice.' Said the mowhawk man, his hands ran over her bulging stomach. 'Yeah I like this' He whispered.

Those were the last words of his miserable life. Roland levied his huge revolver at the man and stepped out of the shadows. The world slowed, his hands steadied, his rage faded away. A cold calmness fell over him. He fired the gun, the weapon roared, one booming repeat. His bullet flew true, hitting the unsuspecting man in the back of the head. It erupted, brain and skull hit the woman and she cried out in surprise. Roland took the second man as he made a desperate scramble for his pants on the wayside. A Chinese rifle sat on top of his clothes, the bullet sent him flying into the desert floor. Kicking up sand and dirt, he cried out. It was gargled and watery as if the man suffered a terrible cold. Roland knew he had missed the heart, perhaps it was a lung shot. If so he felt sorry, there was no worse death than drowning in your own blood. So he had heard anyway. Cold blue eyes settled on the last man, who was futilely trying to unhook the pistol that had become tangled in his belt. Roland's sights lay over the mans heart, his chest was round and barrel like. It would be an easy shot, but Roland didn't want anymore killing if he could help it.

Roland spoke one command: 'Don't.'

The man stopped, let his arms dropped to his sides. Rage painted his face red. He noticed he was clenching his big, frying pan shaped hands into fists as he watched the old cowboy. These were his real weapons, Roland knew and if he got tangled up in them he wouldn't stand a chance.

'Who the fuck are you?' He asked, Roland noted the slight tremble in his voice.

'I ain't anybody but the man holding the gun.'

'You one of them old-hats?'

Roland didn't answer. But he winced; the title seemed to cut him. The big man saw this and went on:

'Well I'll be damned; we got us a bonafied cowboy folks! A lawman too! Thought your kind didn't run these wastelands no more?'

'I ain't no Old-Hat boy.'

'Yeah, not no more you ain't. Scared off by the big dogs weren't you? Looks like you ain't all whole' He said nodding towards Roland's missing thumb 'Bet that fetched a pretty penny with the hunters.'

'Fuck you.' Said Roland simply

They stood in silence for a moment. Daring each other to make a move. The wind blew harshly, kicking up sand and grit. In the distance a wolf howled. The mans eyes danced under the moonlight, wide, scared and crazy. He cried out suddenly, Roland was sure it was meant to sound fierce, to intimidate Roland and buy the big man a few seconds. It only came out high and feeble and rank with desperation. He drew the pistol from his belt; he was big and terribly slow. In the panic the man was pushing the trigger as he wrenched it free. The first bullet went through his own foot, the second hit the sand. He hadn't time to register the pain in the foot because a second later he lay dead in the sand. Roland's revolver held straight and smoking.

The second man he shot gargled in the distance and the old man went to him. The Raider lay face down, wheezing and murmuring his last dying breathes. Roland turned him over with his boot. The man had indeed been hit in the lung, blood spilled from his mouth with each labored breath he took. His legs kicked the desert sand in desperation. His eyes shone with the last moments of life, they focused on Roland. He tried to say something but could not. Roland put a bullet in his temple. The raider was still.

He went back to the girl, reloading his weapon on the way. It was cumbersome without his thumb. He had to hold his weapon upside down in his left hand and reload with his right. He counted himself lucky though; most people who had hunted the Old-Hats were instructed to take both thumbs, to ensure they couldn't fire a revolver again. Most found a way, but the loss of the thumbs was symbolic. They made an Old-Hat mortal in the eyes of the citizens they protected.

He holstered his weapon and went to the young girl. She sat in stunned silence, looking at the dead men. Roland pulled a tattered handkerchief from his jacket and knelt in front of the girl, meaning to wipe the blood from her face away. She turned her head away.

'Relax. I ain't gonna hurt you. Name's Roland, what's yours?'

'S-Six' she said

'Huh?'

'I am six.'

He looked at the dead men around him and then up at the raider's camp, surely they had heard them.

'Aw god damn. You a slave?'

She nodded and followed his gaze to the camp.

'We need to get away from here.' She said

'Yeah.' Was Roland's reply

He helped the woman to her feet; she clung desperately to his arm. Together they faded into the darkness away from the danger that would soon be pursuing them.

_I saw the wasteland turn good men into bad men, and bad men into heroes. _

Excerpt from Roland's diary

Dated

2278

_**I'd like to apologize for the delay, I was kind of stuck in Edit limbo. This next part stretched to almost 8000 words so I had to cut it up at sensible points to make three parts out of it. It worked out ok, **__**it gives me more time to work on the other parts. Anyway, I changed the name of the story because the first part, Rolands near death in an ancient restroom was some idea I liked and wanted to write for a while but I never anticipated that I would follow up on it for awhile, I felt I would add to Roland's story at intermissions. Now though I think I came up with an idea for an entire story. **_

_**I have always been a huge fan of Cowboys and putting them in a post apocalyptic environment just seemed awesome. When I first played fallout 3 I squealed with delight when I joined the regulators. When I played NV I thought it was the perfect place to have a gang like the Regulators roaming around. I always wondered why there wasn't and if there was what might have happened to them. **_

_**This is me trying to fill in that story; of course this is completely non canon. This is not a Regulators story line, just homage to that amazing faction. This clan is a complete figment of my imagination. Again, thanks for reading and if you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would appreciate it greatly. If you read this far you probably have something to say, be it good or bad.**_

_**-Stew**_


	3. The Cowboy and The Slave

Chapter 3

The Cowboy and The Slave

The man and the girl reached a cave several hours later. They had strayed from the road, hoping the hilly ground would provide cover should the Raiders already be hunting them. None did, they did see light but it was only once or twice and nothing to be concerned about. Mostly they were travelers, trying to find safe passage through the wasteland under the cover of darkness.

When they finally stopped at the cave the woman was panting heavily and holding her strained stomach. Roland had discovered she had been a slave named 'Six'. This meant she had probably been kept confined in a cage or a cell. Not used to the open wastes she had tripped more than a few times and received many criss-cross gashes on her hands and knees. She didn't complain though, or cry. For this Roland was thankful. She had slowed him down considerably, but at least he needn't be worried about her making noise. Roland made the woman stay outside while he cautiously entered the cave. It was long and wide, the sound of softly trickling water echoed from far in the back. It was empty. He checked for carcasses or dung, the signs of a recent animal presence, when he saw none he was satisfied it was safe. The mouth of the cave was curved and would allow a fire. The overhanging rocks would obscure it from searching eyes from the highway. To anyone approaching head on however they would be sitting ducks. He made a mental note to kill it after they had eaten. He beckoned for the girl to enter and then set about making a fire. There was plenty of dry grass and twigs lying near the cave and Roland gathered them up quickly.

Once the fire was roaring with life Roland turned to the girl. He hadn't gotten a good look at her before, the falling night and blood that covered her features had obscured her face. The latter had mostly come off with sweat, but not all. Some blotches of blood were on her cheeks and forehead. He also spied a rather sizeable chunk of skull tangled in her hair. Roland took out the handkerchief and offered it to the girl. She nodded and Roland dipped it into the flask of precious water. As the woman cleaned herself Roland noticed just how young she was. Her face already had some premature wrinkles of a stressful life, but her eyes that looked as gray as smoke inside a crystal ball still glittered with youth. Her most distinguishing feature was her nose, it was long and curved and dented in several places where it had been broken many times. The rest of her face was thin and narrow coupled with her big nose it gave her the appearance of a Raven. Her jet black hair completed the comparison. It was tied back in a pony tail with a tattered piece of rawhide but it had been awhile since it had seen a brush or a wash and strands stuck out crazily, frayed and without purpose like the loose wires of a broken junction box. Once she had finished cleaning herself as best she could she looked at the man and smiled. Her teeth were surprisingly white; it would be a winning smile had she not been missing a few. She handed the handkerchief back.

'I wanted to thank you' She said in a sweet, sing song voice that carried through the cave.

'No need to thank me girl.' He said, cutting two pieces of salted meat and dangling them over the fire with a stick.

'No really, if you hadn't come, they would have.' She trailed off and put a protective hand on her pregnant tummy.

Roland nodded his understanding. The woman wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater and watched the man cook the meat.

'Was it true what John said back there?'

'Bout what?' asked Roland casually.

She pointed at his missing thumb 'Were you once an Old-Hat?'

Roland lifted his head and gazed out at the night, watching for any signs of approaching Raiders.

'Yes, long, long time ago.'

'I heard the Raiders talk about you, I mean, when your people still…' She cleared her throat 'Anyway they were scared of you.'

'Most folks were.'

'Why?' She asked

'Are you scared of me?'

'A little.' She admitted 'You're very quick with your weapon.'

He shrugged and stirred the fire with a stick, kicking up loose embers. They danced across the evening air like tiny meteors.

'They talked of your gang like you were gods' She went on 'Or monster-'

'We weren't no monsters.' Roland snapped 'We was good people. Some of us just couldn't handle their power. We were trying to bring justice to a lawless land, got to some people. You can't change folks if they don't want to change you understand that?'

The girl shook her head. The man sighed and thrust her piece of meat at her. She took it carefully, with the tips of her fingers and laid it on her sweater. She picked at the meat, chewing gratefully but slowly.

'Could I have some water?' She asked.

Roland unhooked his flask at handed it to her, she took it, removed the cap but instead of drinking she let the tip of her finger dance around the neck.

'Why did your people stop?'

'Everything stops girl. Everything.'

The girl didn't reply instead she watched the finger that danced across the top of the flask. Roland sunk his teeth into his piece of meat, it was juicy and flavorful. His stomach gave a thankful rumble. She could sense his annoyance and so strove to change the subject:

'Where will we go?'

'We?'

She nodded, finally sipping the flask and handing it back to the man. She was smart enough to conserve water and Roland was thankful for that too.

'Yeah, I'm yours now…right?'

'Lady, you're free. You don't belong to anybody.'

Her eyes widened at this. He could see the idea of freedom both elated and scared her.

'What if I want to stay with you?'

'I don't have the supplies-'

'I can hunt!' She cried excitedly 'They made me, and I'm a pretty good shot with this.' She said waving the weapon around she had taken from the man named John.

Roland sighed heavily.

'I like to travel alone.' He said honestly.

'Then why did you save me?'

_Because you scream like my wife._ He nearly said this but stopped. The girl may shoot him if he put this thoughts into words. Instead he said:

'I don't like Raiders. I protected people like you once. Guess old habits die hard.'

The girl nodded, but looked miserable, she went back to eating. They finished their steaks and took two more careful drinks of water before she spoke again.

'To the next town at least? I-I won't last long out here alone.'

Roland threw his bone into the fire and looked at the girl and said:

'Alright, the next town but I got two rules.'

'Ok'

'One, you can't slow me down. We need to put those raiders as far behind us as possible.'

The girl nodded.

'Two, no more questions about where I come from or who I was. That's in the past you hear?'

'I won't I promise!'

The man nodded and sucked a piece of grease from his one remaining thumb. The girl was sitting, staring at her stomach, her hands caressing her ample bump.

'You know what you're gonna name it?' Said Roland trying to sound a bit friendlier. He was used to travelling alone, it was his nature. He really didn't know how to talk to others.

'It isn't an it. It's a he.' She said sternly.

'Who told you that.'

'No one, I just know.'

'What are you psychic or something?'

The girl smiled

'Maybe. No, It was another slave girl I knew, she told me it was the way I was holding.'

'Those are old wives tales.'

The girl known as Six shook her head.

'I think it's a boy too.'

'You know usually most Raiders get rid of those.' He said to her.

'Yeah, but these particular Raiders saw it as an investment. More help that way, once they grew strong enough.' She said. 'They don't want too many pregnant women mind you. I begged them to let me keep this one.' She said

'That's an odd request.'

The girl nodded and smiled shyly

'They don't hurt us as bad if we have these.' She said 'Out there, that was my first time in months. They were under orders not to touch me…but John had a special thing for me. He liked a girl with fight.'

'Didn't look like he was one to follow orders.'

The girl shook her head.

'Nah, he wasn't very smart. The boss liked him though, he was second in command. I think that was mostly to keep us scared, he was the biggest one of all of them.'

Roland sighed. They weren't going to like him killing their biggest man and second in command too boot.

'We'll kill this fire tonight.' He said 'You better get some sleep, it's gonna be a hard days travelling tomorrow.'

'What about you?'

'I'm gonna keep watch, I see anything we move understand? Be ready to go when I say, if I say.'

'Ok…Alright. Thank you Roland.'

The man nodded and stood, kicking the fire out. He had chanced it enough lighting it in the first place. He heard the girl lay down and after twenty minutes she was snoring lightly. Roland sat with his back to the outer cave wall that looked over the land. The stars were high now and the moon was full and plump like an odd fruit ready for picking. It lit the wasteland in its eerie glow, causing the sand to shimmer like an ocean. Without the fire it was cold. The desert was always unforgiving; in the day it was hot enough to cook skin. In the night the brisk air reached out to a travel worn wanderer and held on with icy talons that brought no respite from the heat, only more pain. The cold cut through his coat and soon he was shivering. The woman was shaded from the worst of the wind deep in the cave and she didn't wake once. She cried out though, many times in the night. They were the kind of cries that had woken Roland when he was alone on his travels. After a few hours the man's head began to lull. He tried to fight the sleep, focused on his stiff lower back and legs. Focused on the hard, cold rock behind him and the oppressive breeze in front. It worked for awhile, but soon Roland lost the fight and fell into an uneasy doze. His nightmares were filled with screams and blood.

_Bang!_

Roland snapped awake and his hand was inside his jacket before he realized that it was light. Not full light yet, early morning hazy light that still had the lingering chill from the night before. His hand grasped the cool, wooden butt of his revolver and he was on his feet, standing on stiff legs in a heartbeat. He listened for voices, there were none. No more gunshot either. Roland looked inside the cave but the girl had gone. He cursed.

He forced his breathing to slow and settled into that cool calm that always washed his fear away. His ears pricked up and he listened, in the distance he could hear soft footsteps. As they approached he realized they were coming from behind him. He spun, his finger applying a dangerous amount of pressure to the trigger of his weapon. When he saw it was only the girl he sighed with relief.

'What's wrong with you?' He stormed

'What?' She said. She had been smiling but now it had wavered, her eyes were wide with fear and her posture had changed. She looked ready to back away if the man came towards her. Remembering where she was from, Roland tried to calm down.

'You scared me. Thought they had come in the night…why didn't you wake me?'

'You were sleeping so peacefully.' She said, her smile returning, cautiously now, 'Anyway I got us breakfast.'

She held up a small creature.

'Shot it behind the cave…what is it? You think we can eat it?'

'It's a badger and yes, so long as it ain't too badly mutated.'

'It's got two tails' She said.

'Most animals do. Take it inside and put it in my sack, we need to move. We'll gut it later.'

The girl said nothing

'Ok?' He asked but she wasn't looking at Roland. Her olive coloured face was a ghastly white. Roland followed her gaze and saw raiders in the distance.

'Oh god.' She whimpered.

'Listen to me. Ok, you need to listen.'

The girl reluctantly looked at Roland. Her eyes were filled with fear.

'We have to move. We can't out run 'em but we can get to better territory. If we stay here were sitting ducks.'

'Roland we can't…can't fight them!'

'Were gonna have to. It's them or us.'

The girl looked at the approaching men dotting the horizon she counted at least twenty, there were probably more.

'We need to go. Now!' Said Roland

The girl nodded and together they hastily packed up their camp and set off away from the approaching men, hoping they would reach some form of refuge before they caught up.

'We can't change tomorrow if we don't start today.'

Excerpt from Rolands diary.

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Part three, it's a quick one, the next part will be an action packed thrill ride so enjoy the rest while you can! :P As always, if you like it or want to offer some helpful feedback I would appreciate it. Thank you!


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